In November’s quiet, the world slows down,
Golden leaves cascade, a gentle crown.
The air is crisp, with whispers so faint,
Nature’s own hymn, a serene saint.
The skies, a canvas of muted hues,
Paint stories of old, in twilight’s muse.
Each dawn brings a promise, tender and clear,
A reminder that winter draws near.
November holds memories, both sweet and sorrow,
Mingling joy and grief, for a better tomorrow.
In the stillness, hearts find their song,
In November’s embrace, they quietly belong.
As the nights grow longer, and days retreat,
November’s whispers are bittersweet.
A time to reflect, to cherish and mend,
In the silent beauty, hearts transcend.